I'm scouting myself an observation post
To watch the Fray
Wait. Why do you want to see Bert Cates?
What's he to you, or you to him?
Can it be that both beauty and biology
Are on our side?
There's a newspaper here I'd like to have you see.It just arrived
From that wicked modern Sodom and Gomorrah,
Cleveland!
Not the entire edition, of course.
No happy Hooligan, Barney Google, Abe Kabible.
Merely the part worth reading: E.K. Hornbeck's
Brilliant little symphony of words.
You should read it.
A sweet, sad song about the Hillsboro heretic,
B. Cates: boy-Socrates, latter-day Dreyfus, Romeo with a biology book.
(Hornbeck eating an apple)... Have a bite?
Don't worry, I'm not the serpent, Little Eva.
This isn't the Tree of Knowledge.
You won't find one in the orchards of Heavenly Hillsboro.
Birches, beeches, butternuts. A few ignorance bushes.
No Tree of Knowledge.
Hornbeck (pp. 30):
Cynical? That's my fascination.
I do hateful things, for which people love me,
And lovable things for which they hate me.
I am a friend of enemies, the enemy of friends;
I am admired by detestability.
I am both Poles and the Equator,
With no Temperate Zones between.
Hornbeck (pp. 31):
Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. The ordinary people
Played a dirty trick on Colonel Brady.
They ceased to exist
Time was
When Brady was the hero of hinterland,
Water-boy for the great unwashed.
But they've go inside plumbing in their heads these days! There's a highway through the backwoods now,
And the trees of the forest have reluctantly made room for
Their leafless cousins, the telephone poles. Henry's Lizzie rattles into town
And leaves behind
The Yesterday-Messiah,
Standing in the road alone
In a cloud of flivver dust.
The boob has been de-boobed.
Colonel Brady's virginal small-towner
Has been had-
By Marconi andMontgomery Ward.
I'm inspecting the battlefield
The night before the battle. Before it's cluttered
With the debris of journalistic camp-followers
I'm scouting myself an observation post
To watch the Fray
Wait. Why do you want to see Bert Cates?
What's he to you, or you to him?
Can it be that both beauty and biology
Are on our side?
There's a newspaper here I'd like to have you see.It just arrived
From that wicked modern Sodom and Gomorrah,
Cleveland!
Not the entire edition, of course.
No happy Hooligan, Barney Google, Abe Kabible.
Merely the part worth reading: E.K. Hornbeck's
Brilliant little symphony of words.
You should read it.
A sweet, sad song about the Hillsboro heretic,
B. Cates: boy-Socrates, latter-day Dreyfus,
Romeo with a biology book.
I may be rancid butter,
But I'm on your side of the bread.
(Hornbeck eating an apple)... Have a bite?
Don't worry, I'm not the serpent, Little Eva.
This isn't the Tree of Knowledge.
You won't find one in the orchards of Heavenly Hillsboro.
Birches, beeches, butternuts. A few ignorance bushes.
No Tree of Knowledge.
Hornbeck (pp. 30):
Cynical? That's my fascination.
I do hateful things, for which people love me,
And lovable things for which they hate me.
I am a friend of enemies, the enemy of friends;
I am admired by detestability.
I am both Poles and the Equator,
With no Temperate Zones between.
Hornbeck (pp. 31):
Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. The ordinary people
Played a dirty trick on Colonel Brady.
They ceased to exist
Time was
When Brady was the hero of hinterland,
Water-boy for the great unwashed.
But they've go inside plumbing in their heads these days!
There's a highway through the backwoods now,
And the trees of the forest have reluctantly made room for
Their leafless cousins, the telephone poles.
Henry's Lizzie rattles into town
And leaves behind
The Yesterday-Messiah,
Standing in the road alone
In a cloud of flivver dust.
The boob has been de-boobed.
Colonel Brady's virginal small-towner
Has been had-
By Marconi andMontgomery Ward.